


you knew you'd know me

by royalwisteria



Category: SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalwisteria/pseuds/royalwisteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jinki is born on a spaceship by rebel parents, a dreamer, running away from the destiny his parents gave him. Minho is born on the friendly planet of Novus VI, a dreamer, desperate to be important. Neither truly get what they want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jinki

**Author's Note:**

> this is a clarified version of what I posted on LJ and will update this fic on ao3 because they don't have character limits

Jinki grows up with dreamscapes in his back pocket and a blaster in his right hand. His mom was tough, his dad a little kinder, but they were both vigilantes and they were both wanted from governments across the universe. Jinki remembers them with blood on their hands and crazed looks in their eyes from too many dreams. They are both a cautionary tale and an inspiration to him, and he carries their legacy with him in every step, every footprint he leaves in every world he visits.

His ship is small with an even smaller crew, different from the fleet his parents led. Most of them are related to his parents crew, but Jinki doesn’t mind that. He might be Captain, but he is not as domineering as his parents and they work in a democracy. The universe is a cruel place and they have all done cruel things but Jinki will keep his ship an area of peace where everyone's voices are heard.

The whole universe knows his real name: Lee Jinki, son of Suji and Jaebyun. He is too famous to not go by his real name, but to his crew his name is of little consequence. To them, he is Captain. He is their leader, he is a legend by virtue of his parents. When he tries to sleep natural sleep, this haunts him. Will he be just like his parents then? Jinki has heard too many screams from young throats and seen too much to believe in their cause. It is a cause carried through centuries: _free the peoples, free the species, the trees, everything, for we are all equal._

He scoffs in his favorite dreamscape, because real sleep is always elusive. Equality is a farce and those who dream it are fools. Key can call him an idealistic idiot for wanting the ship to be peaceful all he wants, Jinki knows the truth. In the dreamscape, sitting on the highest peak of the tallest mountain, surveying the dips and curves of land in front of him and somehow, impossibly hearing the ocean come and go behind and far below him, Jinki admits the paradox of his life.

 

 

The Shining Star is on a routine drive through in the Novus galaxy. As with most of the Novus planets, the planets they navigate through are swathed with clouds. One or two of them are having an unusually clear day and they can see right through to the dusty gray surface. The habited planets in this galaxy are all underground and one of his crew is from Novus VI, which is known in particular for it’s shipments of hyrdronium, a necessary mineral for gravity hopping. Jinki takes a moment as he stares out from the bridge to recall his name. T something, his mind tells him. The crew is small enough he should know all of their names, but this one slips from him. He thinks about taking a break to slip into his memory dreamscape, an unused dream scape that was a gift from his mom, but the Novus galaxy makes him too twitchy. It’s something about all the clouds and the lack of visibility.

Key, his Navigation Officer, has told him time upon time how it is impossible for a ship to gain the velocity required to give them an actual chase through the galaxy coming from atmosphere, but it doesn’t comfort him. He would know, though, as one of the few crew members who was straight before turning to their cause. He’d even gone to flight school and is the only one amongst them who has proper training. They all know how to do their duties and those of others to fill in as necessary, but theirs is a knowledge put together hodge-podge by watching with wide, wondering eyes in the ships their parents were on. That’s how Jinki knows what to do, how to sit in his Captain’s seat with just the right amount of slouch that projects confidence and how to give orders.

His parents were the best; Jinki knows this and he does his best to emulate it.

“It’s okay to take breaks once in a while,” his First Officer says behind his shoulder. First Officer Jonghyun has been his best friend since they were little. His single mother was Weapons Handler for his parents and Jinki remembers their moms giggling late at night with bottles of rum and whiskey in their hands. His dad would be in his own dreamscape, doing things Jinki didn’t understand yet.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jinki murmurs in reply. Of his crew, Jonghyun is the only one who grew up with Jinki and Jinki despairs over how similar Jonghyun is to his alias of Jjong. How is he to be protected if his secrets are so easily revealed?

“We aren’t expecting any disturbances in this check-up.”

In his tone, Jonghyun tells Jinki that he hasn’t taken a break in more cycles than healthy. As he stares at what he’s almost positive is Delice II, he blinks for too long. Heaving a sigh, he stands and most of the bridge stands with him. Key is the only who remains sitting.

“I’m retiring to my quarters,” he announces to the room and leaves with a heavy hand on Jonghyun’s shoulders. No one follows him off the bridge and the door clicks shut behind him with a metallic beep. The hallways are dark; they haven’t had a fuel refill in galaxies. This is the third check-up they’re performing and their low fuel levels are part of Jinki’s anxiety.

At the door to his quarters, Jinki keys in his code and offers his eye for confirmation of his identity. That is another cautionary tale he learned from his parents. The door swings open, the automatic hinges in his door one some of the few that don’t squeal. The ship was old when Jinki took it on from the wreckage of his parents fleet however many years ago. He doesn’t know who it once belonged to, nor does he particularly care. It flies, it is quick and it is small: that is all he cares about.

The room beyond the door is as plain as the hallways and darker. When he steps in, the solar lights that line the intersection between floor and walls brighten slowly. There are no windows into space here; the architect of this ship had considered the captain best protected in the center of the ship and his desk is the very center of that center. That are stacks of discs on his desk that he should have gone through already, details about shipments and possible tasks they could take on for the cause. The best part about being part of a legend is being able to refuse what you want and take on what you want.

The desk and chair are the only furniture in the entire room. The corner lights highlight the emptiness and the small oil stains and other stains on the wall. On the door that swings shut behind him is a scorch mark that he contemplates every single day. In the dreamscape he once created of his quarters, the walls were covered in scorch marks and smatterings of blood; it is nearly a faithful representation of how he found the rooms when he first found the ship.

Jinki moves through the archway to his bedroom. The large, hexagonal solar light in the middle of the floor brightens. The headboard of his queen bed is pushed against the wall and is opposite the archway; next to it is the near invisible door to a small bathroom. Standing there, he knows that portraits of his parents are on either side of him.

He ignores them as he goes to one of the shelves that circle the room. They are lined with his dreamscapes; most of them discarded dreamscapes, unusable. The one of these rooms is somewhere amongst them and he bets that, if he looked hard enough, he could find some that his parents had created. He cannot enter them, only the creator can enter the dream of the single use dreamscapes, but he doesn’t want to either. They don’t feel right in his hands, as though they bend underneath his fingers, calling him to enter. They feel insane.

His favorite dreamscape is slim in it’s recording in his back pocket and flexible; he reconfigures it every morning, relayers it, figures out the winds that should blow and how much the grass should grow. It is an inheritance from generations before him, from when dreamscapes were first created. Jinki doesn’t understand how they work; he can only enter dreamscapes he creates, yet this is a dreamscape dating back centuries ago and he can enter it. He thinks others could, if they wanted to, but Jinki will never give them a chance. This one is his. This one is an escape from the world, to a place where he is in control.

Sleep is impossible and has been impossible for years and Jinki bypasses all the shelved dreamscapes on their single-use files while pulling out his recorded dreamscape. He was taught what comes next when he was four and didn’t understand what dreamscapes were, only that his parents mediated for long hours of time and never seemed to need the sleep he did. On his bed, he sits cross-legged with closed eyes, recording clasped loosely in his hands.

Slowly, easily, he slips into the scape and opens his eyes once more. He’s on top of the mountain and in front of him are the peaks of shorter mountains and beyond that are green lands. Behind him is the ocean and he looks over his shoulder; the waves come and go on a shore he can’t see, but he knows from coming here so many times that the shore is a crescent with black sand that the mountains rise from.

The ocean, a memory he has from when he was six, sparkles underneath the sun. This landscape is created from bits and pieces of things he remembers, a dream that he wishes he could live in. When his mind wavers in that direction, he thinks he understands why dreamscapes were phased out.

He looks back over the green lands and feels a small breeze on his skin, ruffling his hair the slightest. There are no natural breezes on the ship, just the displacement of ventilation. This dreamscape is his memory of land, of being planet-side and being anchored to something solid underneath his feet. Then again, Jinki knows from experience that planets are not necessarily solid. He has little trust for real ground underneath his feet, but this ground harkens to the days he did.

Jinki starts walking forward and, because it is his dreamscape, he doesn’t follow the descent of the rocky mountainside. He walks in the clouds and he can see blue sky around him. When he wills it, after he has walked to the green lands, he is on the ground again.

Dreamscapes don’t have the same restrictions reality have: they cater to the mind of the dreamer. A dreamscape is a dreamer’s creation and controlling the dreamscape is as natural to Jinki as breathing. Sometimes it is more natural because sometimes he forgets how to breathe, like when he watches fires burn or executions governments hold.

The grass is cool under his feet and he buries his body in it and closes his eyes. Real sleep is not allowed in a dreamscape because time moves differently in dreamscapes, in a way that scientists and naturalists have never figured out. Dreamscapes are dreams and how does one pin down a dream? Dreamers, creators of dreamscapes, are perhaps the only one who understands the futileness of those who search to decipher dreamscapes.

He rolls onto his back and when he opens his eyes a figure stands in front of him. Immediately, from habit, Jinki banishes the person. But he does not disappear and panic sets in— sometimes his parents appear. His mom has her hip holster dragging low, blood trickling from her gentle smile and his dad has blasters in both hands and stands with feet wide-apart, looking into the distance with bruises all over his body.

Jinki scrambles upwards, because this man is not either of his parents. He is taller than Jinki, without a holster nor a weapon of any sort. It doesn’t take long for Jinki’s right hand to curve into the familiar position of wielding his favorite blaster.

“I come in peace,” the man says with hands raised in the air. “It’s taken me too long to find you.”

“Find me?” Jinki asks and he tries not to let fear into his voice because what does it mean that someone can slip into his dreamscape? They are coded to the dreamer; no one else is supposed to be able to slip in like this.

“You’re not an easy man to get a hold of,” he says with a smile and then sits down. He’s graceful, more graceful than Jinki, and his long legs bend with elegance. His back is straight, wide shoulders parallel to the ground.

“You’re not screaming trust-worthy to me,” Jinki scowls while keeping his blaster pointed on the man. “Who are you?”

“My name is Minho. And no need to introduce yourself, for you’re Lee Jinki, Captain, the infamous rebel, child of the founders of the Great Rebellion.”

“And what are you? You still have me at a disadvantage.”

Minho smiles easily at him. His smile spells trust-worthy in a way that has Jinki on edge. All the most untrustworthy people have seemed the most trustworthy. None of his crew seems competent, but they all get their jobs done in a way that tells an opposite story.

“I’m an important person to certain people. You might want to try and find me, but I’d rather you didn’t.”

Sighing, Jinki returns his gun to his holster. His hand feels naked without it because his heart is still beating danger in his chest. He wishes he could leave, but he doesn’t feel safe leaving his dreamscape with this stranger in it.

“Can you tell me how you found me then? And perhaps why?” He sits across Minho, his movements not graceful but compact, military-like.

“There aren’t many dreamers left, are there,” Minho hums, pulling up grass and shredding the blades.

A shiver runs down Jinki’s spine— this is echoing his previous thoughts too closely. “How do I know you’re real?”

It is a quiet, nearly rhetorical question, but the wide-eyed, indignant look Minho gives him makes it seem like it had been a pointed, loud one. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. You’re a dreamer, how do you know when anything is real?”

He stares mutely at Minho because— these words? They hurt. Jinki barely classifies himself as a dreamer; he feels like a bastard dreamer most of the time, trailing coattails and putting on shoes that don’t fit right.

“I don’t,” he whispers. He feels like this isn’t real, but that’s only because he aches for this to be fully a dream, for Minho to be part of a dreamscape and that is how he knows Minho to be real.

Minho’s expression turns apologetic. “Oh, man, I’m sorry. I forget that not all dreamers have proper training. I’m lucky I have it and I really— I shouldn’t look down on you for doing your best while knowing nothing.”

This is another hard blow: he knows nothing. “I know some things,” Jinki tries with a faint voice. Minho’s incredulous look almost puts the spark to rest, it nearly succeeds, but Jinki is still his parents only son and he rebels against it. “I know how to kill. Do you know how to do that? How to choke life out of someone, or aim so the strike goes through their ears?”

The expression goes solemn. Minho has an expressive face, Jinki now notes. His cheekbones are high and skin a deep gold that he is suddenly obsessed with. It is hard to tear his eyes away from the slope of Minho’s cheeks to look at his round eyes, set deep underneath heavy eyebrows and considering Jinki. “I do not.”

“I also know that if I were to kill you here, in this dreamscape, your body would never wake up. Do you really want to risk that?”

Minho smiles softly. “I do not.”

“Don’t belittle or condescend me again, and maybe I won’t.”

The smile grows. “You are better than your reputation.”

Jinki’s heart beats a little faster at the smile. It transforms the expressive set of features and that look is the happiest look Jinki has ever seen. “If you could answer my questions, then. Why are you here?”

“I—” There’s hesitancy in his voice, and in the quick, slight downturn of his lips. “I want to help you, you and your crew. Whether you accept it or not, the future of you and your ship will determine the outcome of the rebellion.”

“So you impossibly invade my dreamscape, from who knows where,” Jinki says, crossing his arms and giving his most not-impressed look. “And I don’t believe you. We’re outliers, tolerated for the reputation our relatives have.”

“Do you believe that? Do you honestly believe that you aren’t a focal point of the rebellion?”

Jinki shakes his head, dropping his arms and leaning backwards. He stares up at the sky, dreaming the clouds into shapes like their ship, blasters, an explosion. “We’re mascots, Minho, for a hopeless rebellion. If you are to try and convince me otherwise, you will have a hard time of it.”

“The greatest leaders don’t want to lead,” Minho replies and the fact that he doesn’t comment on the shape of the clouds above tells that he’s not looking. And when Jinki chances a glance back at Minho, he finds that gaze settled firmly on him.

“You can quote philosophy at me all you want,” Jinki murmurs, vanishing the clouds so the sky is clear blue. “But I will not be dragged into this rebellion any further. It kills.”

“It saves more than it kills,” Minho says as Jinki stands.

He stares down at Minho for a few minutes before he draws his blaster. “If you don’t leave me alone, I will shoot you where you sit.”

Minho does not look afraid. “I’ll be back,” he says as he stands again and like this, standing face-to-face, the blaster is nearly pressed against Minho’s heart. Then he’s gone and Jinki is alone in this vast, wide dreamscape he’s created with that slight breeze cool upon his face.

 

 

He leaves the dreamscape later and opens his eyes to the portraits of his parents in front of him. They look disapproving, but their expression changes day to day so Jinki doesn’t think there’s any relation between the current expression and Minho. But still—

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jinki growls as he sprawls backwards on his bed. He grabs his pillow and brings it to his chest as he curls around it. He only allows himself to stay there for a few moments before he rolls off his bed and avoids eye contact with his parents as he walks towards his desk. “Lights brighten,” he says on automatic as he sits down and goes through the disks. There are disks from the official leader of the rebellion, news disks and disks of supplies for the ship. He picks one up, reads the title— _Great Rebellion strikes capital of Janus galaxy_. He sighs and puts it back down. He has next to no interest in this rebellion; he doesn’t believe in the cause and he doesn’t believe in their success.

Minho’s words come to mind. _You will determine the outcome of the rebellion_. Yeah, right, Jinki scoffs mentally. He’s a figurehead, is all, a person to point at and say _Look! Son of the great rebels Suji and Jaebyun is continuing the fight and so must we!_ He’s heard the rhetoric, has said it often enough himself, to not believe it.

There’s not much he does believe in. Jinki believes in his crew, he believes in his blaster and he believes in his dreamscapes. Three things, and three things is not a lot. “He’s wrong,” he says aloud to the silent room. “I’m nothing.” He’s heard that often enough to believe it to be true. He’s read the words on the tabloids, about how his strikes don’t do anything, about how he’s following his parents for lack of anything better to do. Each word drives daggers into his heart. He doesn’t let anyone on, though sometimes he thinks Jonghyun knows.

The next time he enters the dreamscape, later that day, he finds Minho in front of him on the top of the mountain. On either side of him, Jinki can see the green go forth.

“Why are you here?” He asks, resting a hand on his holster.

“I’ve been talking to people and I have testimonies to read to you.”

He snorts. “Testimonies. Of what?”

“Of police brutality, government corruption, the like and how the Great Rebellion has helped.”

The Great Rebellion is taught to those who are allowed to go to school, which Jinki was not for many reasons. He learned about it through his parents, and his parents always told him that it started small, on the little planet they grew up on, in the Ventus galaxy. It held a small population, but Jinki could taste the smoke and fire from the stories. They were used like animals, to produce something they didn’t understand. They had little to no conception of there being a world outside of the vents they crawled through and the gruel they ate.

The details of what happens next always vary with the telling. Sometimes there is an explosion and they retaliate; sometimes someone had infiltrated the system and causes a riot amongst the people. The result is the same: the small rebellions scattered throughout the universe focus on this one, little planet in the Ventus galaxy and the Great Rebellion begins. His parents take a lead and their love story is not taught in the schools but is a secret shared amongst everyone and it parallels the rebellion’s story.

Jinki rubs his forehead. “You know, I think I need to be drunk for this kind of conversation.”

Minho shrugs. “Well, it is your dream. You can imagine the alcohol up and drink that.”

He immediately shakes his head negative. Last time he did that, it had taken him hours and weeks and more to fix the damage of the things he had imagined up while drunk. He’s not even sure if the alcohol actually got him drunk or it was a placebo affect. “If you’re going to be regaling me with horror stories with dubious origins, we might as well relax,” he says drolly and turns and makes his way to the beach.

Minho follows him. Jinki wonders where, exactly, Minho comes from and where he got this teaching he was talking about before. “Okay,” he says once he has his feet and hands buried in the sand, knees bent in front of him and is looking out towards the ocean. With a brief moment of concentration, he has the sun accelerating until it is setting in front of them. The sky is filled with a rainbow of color; it is a painting Jinki has never seen, full of pinks and blues and purples and oranges and reds and he wants to spend extended time planet-side, for once.

“Melanie, specie, aged 37, was taken prisoner under the false charge of prostitution and is raped several times while incarcerated. She lived in the Ventus galaxy and several years the rebellion infiltrated the government of her planet and freed her. They have provided therapy and apologized for not coming earlier.”

“That wasn’t me,” Jinki says, because he’s avoided Ventus galaxy. There’s no way.

“It might not have been, but the captain of the ship who lead the charge credits his victory to you.”

“Who— who was it?” It is a dire curiosity.

“Minseok, Captain of the Starry Field.”

He laughs, though it is short and rough. “Minseok, huh. I told him to change the name of his ship. It’s stupid.” He had been insistent to name it in a way that takes after Jinki’s. It’s dumb. Jinki hadn’t even named the ship; it was the name it had when he found it.

“Maybe. Fuyuki, human, 13. His parents were Senate members and then were captured for being traitors to the state, of which they were innocent. It was a time of paranoia in the Janus galaxy. Both are executed with fire and there is a riot to protest their deaths, orchestrated by the rebellion.”

This he cannot believe. “So we inadvertently cause his parents death and he’s grateful for it?”

“I’m not done,” Minho counters in a soft voice. “They release a public statement that his parents had nothing to do with the rebellion but were executed because they were trying to pass specie-friendly legislation and move him to a safe planet close to the Earthen galaxy.”

“And who helped with this?”  
  
“It was you. It was a different crew, as you’d not collected the complement you have now, but you’d heard about the execution and were furious, or so the media says.”

“I— I don’t remember.” He’s lying. He remembers hearing about the execution by fire and was furious that innocents were being executed in that style. The scent of burning flesh filled his mind until he’d got the riot going. It had been a dangerous period of his life.

“If you say so.” Minho’s look is knowing and, much like wrong executions, it incenses him.

“Why are you so invested? Why do you care about the rebellion?”

Minho looks away from his gaze. In the time he’s not looking at Jinki, he greedily drinks his fill of the strong jawline and the slightly curly hair that curls just at the conjunction of his jaw.

“Minjung, human aged twenty-three,” he says. “Stabbed on the streets in Novus galaxy for no known reason. Criminals were not persecuted because they were military fighting against the unjust rebellion.”

“Your sister?” Jinki guesses. Minho gives him a short nod. “Ah, another cause of corrupt government, ruining the lives of many, many more.”

“Someone,” Minho continues, “sets fire to the military center, the capitol building and the police headquarters. No one knows who it was, but it is attributed to a member of the rebellion.”

“You,” Jinki guesses again, “ineffectually seeking revenge. How long ago was this?”

“Four years.”

“Now that you’ve told me this, and I’m sure you feel like it’s a huge weight off your chest or some other such nonsense, how about you tell me why you felt the need to try and find me?”

“You’re more than a legend,” Minho says. “You are a symbol. A leader the rebellion needs.”

“It’s time for you to leave,” Jinki replies, unearthing his hands from the smooth sand and drawing his blaster. “I don’t want to hear how I’m special, because I’m not. I’m another man who has the misfortune to be born to parents with bigger shoes than their child could fill.”

Minho smiles sweetly at him. “I’ll see you later.”

 

 

They’re in the Janus galaxy. Jinki has always hated the Janus galaxy the most, because there’s always this sense that they are better. The planets here are not swathed in clouds the way Novus galaxy planets tend to be, but Jinki knows the temperament of the people from this galaxy. They are a cruel people, believing their culture above all others with their breath-taking architecture and art districts. They are like most people: they believe themselves better than all others, especially specie. _Humans_ , Jinki thinks with disgust. _We are the worst._

There is a disturbance at one of the planets and the ship needs fuel and more supplies, so Jinki claims first priority for taking care of the problem. Jonghyun is behind his left shoulder, a trust-worthy presence and Key is in front of him with an arched eyebrow.

“Janus galaxy, planet Tertium? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Jinki replies with irritation. “We have orders from above.”

“Not that we need to follow them,” Key replies.

He stands now and Key almost looks abashed. “Key, am I your Captain?”

“Yes,” Key mumbles.

“I didn’t hear you,” Jinki says calmly. “Am I your Captain?”

“Yes, you are, Captain.”

“Now plot the course to Tertium.”

“Yes, captain.”

His tone is sulky, but Jinki needs to lay a line. Key is not in charge of anything; he is Navigations Officer. He might have official schooling, but if he wants to be in charge of his own crew, he has to fight tooth and nail for it. He has to find his own ship, be it amongst the wreckage of a fleet or in a shipyard. Either way, Jinki doesn’t care because if Key is in his crew, he will listen.

“Jjong,” Jinki says sharply and watches Jonghyun wipe his expression clean. “Take a walk with me.”

Jinki walks out of the bridge, knowing that Key and the other members of the bridge will do their best to chart the best course to land on Tertium and trusting that Jonghyun will follow him. He enters a meeting room, one seldom used and pushes Jonghyun against a wall when he follows him.

“Key is getting ideas,” Jinki hisses. “And I know it’s coming from you.”

“Jinki—”

Jinki presses his arm a little harder against Jonghyun’s windpipe.

“Captain,” Jonghyun gasps out and Jinki releases him. “I—”

“I know you two are sleeping together,” Jinki replies, crossing his arms. “I know you two are involved, though I am not aware of how serious this relationship is.”

“Captain, I can—”

“I don’t care about your relationships,” Jinki cuts through. “I don’t. What I do care about is that Key has started questioning me more since this started. Do you get what I’m saying?”

Jonghyun stares at him with big eyes. They remind him of Minho, and of how he’s been there every single time he’s entered his dreamscape. To avoid him, Jinki’s started entering other dreamscapes, ones with palm trees and snow on pine trees and deserted islands, but Minho has a lock on his presence and has followed him like a dog.

He doesn’t stay for long because Jinki doesn’t allow him, but it is the deepest invasion of his privacy Jinki can imagine. There is nowhere left for him now that his dreamscapes are not his alone. With Key acting more and more sullen on the bridge, it’s a nightmare.

“I’m not sure that I do.”

“You need to heel him in,” Jinki hisses.

“He’s his own person, Ji— Captain, I can’t just—”

Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Jinki yells, “I don’t care!”

Again, the wide eyes. He thinks of curly hair and high cheekbones, he thinks skin a beautiful deep gold. It is becoming a problem. “I’m sorry,” Jinki follows brokenly. “I haven’t been— I’ve not been getting proper rest lately. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“Jinki,” Jonghyun says and crosses over to hug him. Jinki goes limp in the embrace and rests his head on Jonghyun’s shoulder. “We’re here for you to rely on us. We’re not much use if you don’t tell us if something is wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Jinki mumbles, eyes fluttering shut for a few moments. But sleep is dangerous and he quickly jerks back. “I am sorry for lashing, but Key is—”

“Becoming rebellious, yes, I understand that.” He does, Jinki sees it in his face. He also sees the concern and a love that Jinki can’t comprehend. “Jinki, you are a hope and a blessing to us all. You doubt everything and, after what happened to your parents, I don’t blame you, but you can’t avoid everything as a response.”

“This conversation is over,” Jinki harshly replies. Jonghyun slowly straightens and gives him a salute, then leaves. Jinki slumps heavily into a nearby chair. He’s fucking this all up. He doesn’t know how, but he is. This is not what he was destined for, he can feel it.

Then again, if he was living the way his parents had wanted him to, he’d have heavy blasters in both hands and a scream in his mouth. They’d taught him everything he knows, and it was after their death that Jinki had taken a step back and started to question what they had passed on to him.

He thinks again of Minho, of the different smiles he has and how mobile his mouth is. Not for the first time, Jinki thinks of kissing him, of pressing him into the ground, uncovering the rest of his body.

He slams a fist into the meeting room’s table. It causes a loud sound to echo in the small room and gives him a jolt of pain; it is what he needs to stand up and go search out the crew members from Novus.

It takes him a few members until he comes upon the crew member from Novus VI, the one who’s name he cannot remember. He stares at the eager eyes and naive smile and he cannot dredge the name up for the life of him. “T something,” he mumbles.

“Taesun,” the young man replies. “I go by Taesun.”

“Taesun then, I’m looking for information about a Novus planet.”

“Yes, Captain, I’ll do my best to help,” he replies, leaning forward with each syllable.

Calm down, Jinki wants to say, but instead gives him his best Captain’s smile. “Can you tell me which planet had the burned down capital building and military center? It was four years ago.”

Taesun’s smile turns shifty. “That was Novus VI, Captain. Permission to ask a question?”

“Permission granted.”

“Why do you want to know?”

It is more bluntly put than Jinki was expecting and the expression, previously so happy to please, is serious. “I’m looking for someone.”

Taesun swallows, adams apple bopping up and down with the movement. “Excuse me Captain, but I think I know who it is you’re looking for.”

“Do you,” Jinki deadpans. “Who is it, then?”

“Is his name Minho?”

“How common is the name on Novus VI?”

Taesun shakes his head. “It’s not.”

Jinki takes a moment to really look at the kid; he’s possibly one of the youngest crew members on the ship. Jinki himself is young to be captain, not even thirty, but they had voted for him to be captain despite being younger than most of them. His hair is cut boyishly and his face is androgynous and very, very pretty. His eyelashes are longer than Minho’s. “Come with me.”

He’s followed back to the bridge, where he calls out, “make way to Novus VI immediately,” as soon as he steps in. Jonghyun shoots him a glance while Key starts to change their trajectory.

“The mission, Captain?”

“Contact—” Jinki searches for who else wanted this mission. “Contact Tiffany. She wanted this, she’s from Janus after all.”

“And supplies?”

That’s right. Jinki falls down into his chair. “Fuck,” he mumbles, running a hand over his face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He can feel eyes on him, Key’s eyes, Jonghyun’s eyes, Taesun’s and everyone else on the bridge. “Cancel that. We continue to Tertium.” Key grumbles and he can tell that Jonghyun relaxes. Taesun, standing nervously off to the side, shifts.

“Who’s Communications Officer?”

Jonghyun replies, “The position has been empty since the altercation in Earthen galaxy eighteen cycles ago. You haven’t replaced her.”

“Taesun,” he beckons. “You’re new Communications Officer. I need you close.”

His face brightens. He’s too young for the position as well as too inexperienced, but Jinki does need him close. He needs to get to know Taesun for when they finally get to Novus VI.

“Seven minutes until arrival at Tertium,” Key says as Taesun settles into his position.

 

 

Tertium is like most planets. It is full of people and specie, the trees have leashes and bubbles around them to preserve their oxygen. They’re meant to be helping in the lower districts, where the bridges between buildings are filthier than the buildings themselves and stink so bad Jinki’s eyes water the whole time.

He kills a lot of people in Tertirum and, as he does every time, he wonders if it’s worth it. Having these lives on his hands and this guilt on his shoulders is a heavy burden and he doesn’t know how much more he can take. There is violence everywhere in Tertium and people come out of the metalwork when they hear that Lee Jinki is amongst them and that the bounty is as high as it ever was.

They solve the dispute and level the playing field a little, but Jinki knows that soon enough the scales will tip towards those with money once again. It’s part of his disbelief; there is no point to do this, for human nature will always prevail. It’s what the cause really is, to Jinki. The cause is to prevent human nature, to prevent power, greed, gluttony, all of the seven vices rule the universe, to subjugate everything else, but how do you stop humans from being human? They enslave the other races, the trolls from deep underground in Novus, the flites in Janus are pets and they never asked for it. Mother Nature, a term that Jinki doesn’t understand the origin of, is for harvesting.

In his dreamscape, it is only him. He basks in the soft feel of grass and the majesty of the mountains and revels in being the only living being in the dream. That is, until he blinks open his eyes and sees Minho staring unashamedly at him.

Blood is still underneath his fingernails on his ship, but in the dreamscape it isn’t. His clothes here are pristine, are clothes from when his parents were still alive.

“Good morning,” Minho says with a soft smile, the first beautiful thing Jinki has seen in forever.

Jinki surges forward without thinking, cupping Minho’s face in his hands before kissing him. It’s involuntary, and he bites Minho’s lip gently when he feels hands settle on his back. He sucks on it as Minho’s hands start pushing up his shirt, settling firm and warm on his skin and pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, watching Minho’s eyelashes flutter. Taesun’s are longer, but Minho’s are enchanting as they are and his eyes are hazed behind them.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Minho replies, breath ghosting onto Jinki’s face.

“I shouldn’t,” Jinki says, leaning forward again so their lips are touching. “I really, really shouldn’t.”

“You should,” Minho teases, licking Jinki’s lips. “We were meant to be.”

He presses forward to kiss him sweet, and remembers those words passing his parents lips and pulls away abruptly. Minho stares after him, lips redder and swollen, but Jinki doesn’t let his gaze linger for long.

“I refuse to believe that,” Jinki says, dazed. “Nothing is meant to be.”

His hand is on his holster, blaster ready to be used for the hundredth or more time in the past few days. He should take it out and train it on Minho, because this should not be, because this will not end well. Love is not healthy, love is a distraction and love can bring you down. Minho gazes back at him calmly, sitting on crossed legs.

“Who would cry if you died?” Jinki finds himself asking, words coming out without permission.

“My family. My teachers, the lady down the street who gives me fruit for a smile, some childhood friends. You.”

“I wouldn’t cry. I don’t cry anymore.”

“You cried for your parents. It was all over the news, every holo had a clip of you crying watching the execution.”

“Think I don’t know that?” Jinki hisses, stepping forward. His blaster is kissing Minho’s forehead, though it trembles in his grip. He wonders if there would be blood, although blaster shots are more electrical than physical. “I’ve seen enough pitying gazes to know that everyone, every human, specie and plant has seen that fucking clip.”

“You humanized it. You made everyone feel for you, the boy who lost his parents to something greater than anyone can imagine.”

He tosses the blaster to the side, pulls his fist back and clocks Minho. His head jerks back, curls flying everywhere, and he lands backwards onto the grass. “I’m coming to find you,” Jinki growls.

Minho smiles at the sky. Today, Jinki has no clouds above them but the sky isn’t clear blue. There’s something wrong with it, but he doesn’t know how to change it. “I told you, we were meant to be.” He disappears and leaves an indentation of his shape in the grass.

Behind him, Jinki’s mom clucks her tongue.

“He’s no good for you.”

“No worse than you,” he hisses, turning, a hand going to an empty holster.

“Aw, look at our little boy, all grown up. Too bad he can’t get past our death,” his dad says, linking arms with his mom.

They smiled like that in the fire. Jinki looks out towards the grass and starts searching for his blaster. It’s not too far away and his parents watch him with either sympathy or concern.

“Are you okay, Jinki? We haven’t seen you smile these past years.”

“I’m fine,” he grinds out, fingers curling around the blaster, settling too comfortably on the trigger. He shoots, and they smile with love as they, too, disappear.

 

 

Before finding Taesun, he stops by Jonghyun’s quarters. He answers with mussed hair and Jinki sighs and gives him a pointed look. Jonghyun replies with a sheepish smile and edges out, closing the door behind him.

“He’s asleep,” he says by way of excuse. “Didn’t want to chance waking him.”

“I— I’m happy for you, I really am. I wanted to apologize again.”

Jonghyun hasn’t grown for years, but his hugs are as they always are: sudden and warm. Tentatively, Jinki hugs him back. “You have this habit of doing things by yourself, you know? Like finding this ship, getting it back into shape and finding us all.”

“I do not.” His reply is muffled in Jonghyun’s shoulder.

“You do, you really, really do. Something’s bothering you and you’re not sharing it.”

Jinki pulls back, startled. Jonghyun taps the side of his head with two fingers. “I notice things. I _am_ your First Officer.”

“I— it’s nothing.”

“You’re not resting anymore.”

“Nightmares,” Jinki challenges, to which Jonghyun scoffs.

“I think not, but if this thing you need to do on Novus VI with the Taesun kid helps, I’ll do anything I can.”

Jinki raises a hand to rest at the back of Jonghyun’s neck and squeezes carefully. “You’re my best friend.”

Jonghyun copies the move. “Best friends for life.”

“We gravity-hop as soon as we can.”

“Of course. I’ll pass the message on.”

“Jjong?” Jinki asks, voice a little tremulous. “I hope you’re happy.”

“We both deserve it.”

 

 

Jinki finds Taesun in the mess hall. With fresh supplies, the food isn’t terrible, but they will all be sick of it before they get to Novus VI. He sets his tray in front of Taesun, who immediately looks guilty. “You’re not in trouble,” Jinki says bemused as he sits down. “Just wanted to chat.”

“Uh, okay, yes, yes sir.”

“You’re alone?” Jinki glances around at the mess hall in which, though sparsely filled, no one was sitting alone. “Have trouble fitting in?”

“Ever since becoming an officer, it’s gotten harder.”

Jinki leans back in his seat and breathes out slowly. “I’m sorry for that.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Captain.”

“We’re both off-duty right now,” Jinki says with what he hopes is a charming smile. “No need for such formalities.”

“...Sir?”

“Taesun,” Jinki tries again. “Are you happy here, on this ship?”

“The Shining Star is a magnificent ship, sir.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Such a young man, Jinki can’t help but think looking at him. What has he been through, what has he seen? It’s hard to imagine him having experienced anything and Jinki questions why, exactly, Taesun joined the rebellion. He has to have had a purpose for joining, because he has no background in the rebellion. He joined of his own volition.

“I’m happy to be making a change.”

“And you believe that,” Jinki flatly replies, before shaking his head and the question forming on Taesun’s lips away. “Never mind that.” He sighs staring at Taesun. “I’ll just get to the point. I want what you know about Minho.”

Taesun’s face turns blank. It’s not a good blank face; Jinki knows blank faces, and this is too carefully constructed. With the slightest push, it will come crumbling down. “What about him?”

“What was he like, when he was young?” It seems fair to Jinki that if Minho has seen vids of him crying at his parents execution that he can have stories of his childhood. He wants to know all the embarrassing stuff, about snotty noses and gross pimples. He wants to know about crushes and his parents, what his relationship with his sister was like— really, Jinki should know how to be honest to himself by now. He wants to know every single detail about Minho because Minho has started to obsess him in a dangerous way. It’s why he’s going to Novus VI. It’s to rid himself of this obsession.

“He was always honest and—” There it is, the crumbling of the blank face. “Sir, I don’t think I can talk about it. We— we were best friends, and I left. I don’t feel comfortable sharing his secrets.”

“Ah. I know what this is about.” It’s about being a dreamer. Taesun must know about it then. “And I know. About the dreams? I know, so don’t worry about that, it’s not what I want to know. I want to know how you know each other and what happened.”

Taesun looks both relieved and crushed. “Y-you know? About dreams?”

He nods. “Yes. I do. This is not something we will be discussing ever, though, so if you could please?”

“Well,” Taesun continues, frowning. “On Novus VI, dreamers used to be hunted for sport. This was centuries ago, but it’s part of how the dreamers on Novus VI have become so good at hiding. All the other dreamers across the universe don’t have the same experience. I’m sure there are hundreds, thousands of dreamers on Novus VI, because a teacher will appear to those who discover their ability.”

  
“You know this how?”

Taesun gives him a ‘duh’ look. It’s the closest to be treated as just a friend Jinki’s felt in a while, if Minho’s not included. Almost as though bidden, the memory of Minho’s breath brushing over his skin like a caress comes to mind. “We were best friends.”

“Were. What happened?”

He shrugs. “His sister was killed. Minho’d already been in training for years already, but this nearly sent him crazy. He— he did things he shouldn’t have.”

“I know he burned the capital building and more down. Don’t worry about it.”

Taesun shakes his head and pushes his tray to the middle of the long table. “That’s not it. He had a huge fight with his teacher and he disappeared for— a few months, at least. When he came back, he said that the rebellion wouldn’t accept him and that he was back for good. Not soon after, I enlisted and was accepted.”

“Who did he find?”

Another shrug. “I don’t know. Minho doesn’t to talk about when he was missing.”

Jinki sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Anything else you can tell me.”

“Uh, can I— can I ask something, first?”

Jinki gives a short nod, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “Go ahead.”

“How— why did you know about Minho?”

He inhales deeply and exhales slowly. “That’s not something I’m ready to tell you.”

“Then,” Taesun persists, leaning forward and over the table. “Why do you want to find him?”

The kid is earnest. It’s the best word for the look in his eyes and the determined set of his eyebrows. Jinki stands and rests a hand briefly on his shoulder. “I need him on this ship, and you’re going to help me with that.”

“I am?” Taesun blinks, sitting back in his seat. “You need him?”

“We’ll be leaving pretty soon,” Jinki says, walking away but pausing to make sure he’s heard. “It’ll just be me and you on Novus VI, so prepare yourself.”

“Y-yes sir!”

He returns to his room and sits at his desk. The emptiness rarely gets to him, but when it does, the loneliness is vicious. Leeteuk, one of the highest ranked captains, had sent him a message some cycles ago about filing reports and had given him a knowing look through the vid. He has to finish reports from when they were back in Novus galaxy, and logs and approvals and just— the list is non-ending. His parents worked together to get through this all and had called it the most rewarding part of their job. Jinki thinks they were lying, but he doesn’t have someone to share the load with.

 

 

Novus VI’s surface is less gray when standing upon it, but it is still an unappealing color. The ground is solid underneath his feet, but Jinki still feels like he’s swaying where he’s standing as though he’s only safe on ship. He hasn’t entered a dreamscape since he kissed Minho and saw his parents, though his favorite still rests in his back pocket as usual. The rest he’s gotten has been restless and haunted with terrifying nightmares he can’t remember, but the quick thudding of his heart and the clock that shows the brief time that passed tells him they were terrible. Otherwise, he’s been making due with stimulants. Georgia in med-bay gives him despairing looks every time he swings by for another, but she says nothing.

Taesun leads him to a hatch in the floor and they descend. It had been a hard battle with Jonghyun to allow it just be the two of them, and he had only conceded when Jinki said he’d wear a mask. The incidents on Tertium and people yelling for his blood yet again actually makes Jinki a little eager for the protection it will provide, meager or not.

“Follow me,” Taesun says, glancing back and a hand almost resting on Jinki’s chest, before he pulls it back. He winces but then turns and starts going down a mostly dark path with dimly lit lights every once in a while.

“How do you know where we’re going?” Jinki hisses at him and Taesun huffs and throws his hands up.

“You wanted a safe way in,” he growls, turning around and gesturing angrily. “This is the safest and most secret way. Trust me, I know.”

Jinki grumbles a little underneath his breath, but follows Taesun as they make their way closer to the planet’s main hub. He hasn’t set foot in a big Janus planet in a while, and Janus VI is one of the absolute biggest. People, species and plants know it across the universe, and it’s mostly due to what seems to be the never ending supply of hydronium.

Some time after they’ve been walking, he starts hearing a low hum. It’s distant and comforting at first, but the lights soon become brighter and appear more often and then it starts becoming raucous.

“Stop,” Jinki gasps, hands tight over his ears and leaning against the rocky wall. “I need— just a quick break.”

Taesun glances down the path they’ve been walking on then back at Jinki. “It’s the noise, isn’t it? It’s worst in the paths, especially worse since this one isn’t blocked. It’ll be fine once we get to the center.” He extends a hand.

And how long will that be? Jinki stares up at Taesun, who looks older with the rocky walls behind him. The color has changed from the nondescript gray of the surface to a deep red streaked with blue that Jinki thinks he might love. The expression on his face has changed too. He used to look like a boy, but being below ground has made him look like a man.

Jinki takes the hand and is grateful for Taesun’s help standing. The noise is nearly unbearable and every step makes him wince. He’s surprised blood hasn’t started coming out of his ears.

“Almost there,” Taesun says not long later. “Now would be the best time to put on your mask.”

He does. It makes it a little harder to breathe as it pinches unforgivingly on the bridge of his nose, but otherwise it makes him feel common, as though he’s not Lee Jinki, child of traitors to the universe.

They don’t enter the center hub first, but a small path with only a few people. He glances behind him as they continue and he can’t even find where they came out of from the red and blue wall. Taesun doesn’t slow down the least, and Jinki discovers that the noise has lessened when he picks up the conversation between two ladies walking behind them. It’s about the skyrocketed prices of fresh fruit, which Jinki knows is partially because of the events on Tertium. It’s too big of a trading center and, although it was the lower area, the events there have had long reaching affects.

Taesun leads Jinki in what feels to be a maze. Jinki almost regrets not allowing Jonghyun to come with, because being planet-side always leaves him lost and confused. Space is all he knows and it is what he returns to and the place he calls home. They take too many turns for Jinki to get back on his own, which makes him even more uncomfortable, though soon they enter the main hub.

Jinki gasps, he can’t help it. “All— are all Janus planets like this?” He breathes as he goes to the railing. The hub is deep, from the surface all the way down to where Jinki can’t even see anymore. The red-blue rock only becomes more intense further down, and he can see people and specie and more walking around and plants growing all over the place.

“You need to spend more time planet-side,” Taesun laughs, throwing an arm around Jinki’s shoulder. He doesn’t even mind. Space is beautiful, but this is endearing. Janus VI, because of it’s position of power, has been one of the more peaceful planets in the universe, a near anomaly. But that peace has created something beautiful. He had half-noticed it earlier, but now he can hear the conversations all around him and how positive they sound, how the noise lacks the distinctive ring of violence. What was previously a noise he wanted to stop at all costs has become something Jinki will never forget.

“More like spend more time here.” Jinki smiles back. “Not all planets are like Janus VI.”

Taesun’s smile falters, likely because they’re both thinking of Tertium now. Tertium isn’t even the worst in Jinki’s record, a backwater planet back in Earthen galaxy would claim that spot, or that one Ventus planet Jinki will never go back to.

“Let’s go find Minho.”

There’s a nod and soon Taesun is weaving through the people and the specie; they pass all sorts of types of specie and Jinki thinks that maybe this is what the cause is for. He’s never been surrounded by so much contentment, so much diversity. It almost allows him to believe.

“He lives near here,” Taesun tells him with confidence and then he dips back onto one of the paths. It’s the largest one they’ve been to yet, and he stops not far down and presses a button set into the rock.

“Who is it?”

Jinki starts at Minho’s voice and the sudden need to see Minho, to see his soft smile and feel his curls, something he hasn’t had the opportunity for, is overwhelming. Taesun glances at him and smiles reassuringly.

“An old friend,” Taesun says and there’s a quick, soft inhalation.

“Taemin? Is that you Taemin?”

“Uh, yeah,” Taesun replies. Well, now it’s Taemin and Jinki’s irritation sweeps aside the ache for Minho for now.

“Just a sec.”

“Taemin, is it?” Jinki says with an arched eyebrow. “Isn’t that a bit close to Taesun?”

Taemin scowls at him. “It was all I could think of.”

Jinki narrows his eyes and grabs Taemin’s bicep in a strong grip. “We will be talking about your shitty alias later. Are we understood?”

He looks more boyish again, a sullen expression flashing by. “Yes sir. Understood.”

“Good.” Jinki releases Taemin and pats him on the shoulder. It makes him think he should have another talk with Jonghyun because this seems to be a reoccurring problem with his crew members. One is acceptable, he supposes, but two leads to a possibility for more. Jinki wants to put as little of his crew at risk of exposure as possible.

Now that they’re waiting, Jinki starts gazing at the people and specie that walk by. There’s even a plant growing as it pleases in the crevices of the rock wall and, now that he’s paying attention, they’re all over. They mix beautifully with the red-blue stone. Jinki is just gazing at a couple that walks by who remind him of a little of his parents in how they bend towards each other when he hears the rock sliding open.

“Taemin, it’s been too long!” Minho’s voice rings out joyously and Jinki turns back. They’re in an embrace; Jinki tries not to feel too jealous. Taemin returns the hug, hands clutching at Minho’s shoulder.

“It has been. More than five years, right?”

Minho’s eyes are gleaming as they pull away. “I have so much…” He glances up and finally sees Jinki. “To tell you. Is that—?”

“Yeah,” Jinki says for Taemin, shifting closer. “I said I was coming. Why don’t we go inside?"

The smile Minho gives him is tight, not anything like the ones he got in the dreamscape. It looks like a mask. “Come in, please.”

They follow Minho into his home and Jinki looks at everything his eyes can see. The walls have been smoothed inside, nothing like the bumpy texture of the walls elsewhere. There’s nothing hanging from the walls in the foyer, though he notices that there are pictures of space, darkness with pinpricks of light and the swirling colors of galaxies and novae. He doesn’t see much else in the room, which makes him wonder what its purpose is. Then again, Jinki doesn’t understand how homes planet-side work. He’s used to his bed rooted to the ground of the ship, with his desk and shelves of dreamscapes, the small bathroom with a shower head so low it hits his head.

“Why don’t you have a seat? I’m going to go call someone real quick.”

“Your teacher?” Jinki asks, rising an eyebrow at him while he enters the room Minho indicates. It’s hexagonal, with a screen set fully into one of the walls. It’s pretty luxurious for a guy living by himself, which gets Jinki’s guard up. He’s been hoping for something, unconsciously and, now that he can see the real Minho in front of him, much more consciously. He might have pointed his blaster at Minho countless times, but Minho was invading his dreamscapes, his privacy.

Minho sends a glance at Taemin, who blinks and smiles sweetly at Minho. The sweet smile is much more effective than the blank face in Jinki’s opinion. It’s much more convincing.

“Yeah. My teacher.”

“We’ll just sit down then,” Taemin replies brightly and pulls Jinki down next to him on a dark blue sofa. “I’ll catch up with the latest.”

Taemin leans forward and taps the low, glass table in front of them. A holo appears in front of him and Taemin starts pressing things Jinki doesn’t quite understand. Their ship is old and he doesn’t have the time while planet-side to look into the latest in recreation— this goes beyond his awareness.

Then the screen flickers to life. It casts a dull light on the entire room, on the comfortable sofa they’re lounging on, the glass table in front of them and the red carpet that nearly blends in with the rock. Behind him, Jinki can hear faint murmurs from Minho’s conversation. The situation is awkward, but then Taemin nudges him.

“You made the news,” he dryly says and Jinki focuses on the screen. It’s a young woman, a brunette, with her hair up in a ponytail and falling in thick waves. Projected from the screen is a 3D holo of Tertium’s lower levels. It’s one of the nicer areas, and it shows him shooting anyone and anything that comes near him; it makes him look like the cold-blooded killer he’s supposed to be.

Next to the young woman appears the image of him that’s most famous. It’s from right after the execution by fire and shows him serious with reddened eyes. His hair was black and long; his hair is short now, but better kept because he’s aware of the eyes on him now in a much different way and he changes his color every once in a while. Soon the lady will start talking about his history, because Jinki hasn’t done as big a mission as Tertium in a while and that goddamn clip will come back and he’ll be taken back to Ventus and the smell of burning flesh.

“Turn it off,” he orders Taemin in a low voice. He quickly complies, glancing at Jinki from the corner of his eye. Jinki doesn’t answer questions, but is tense. The air around them is tense and, when Minho enters, it doesn’t get any better. It gets worse, as Minho looks thoroughly angry to see them when he positions himself on the other side of the low table. It’s nothing like the joy to see an old friend as before, and Jinki thinks that the mask has definitely dropped.

“You weren’t supposed to come back with him,” Minho spits out at Taemin. “If you were to come back, it was to come back alone.”

“He convinced me,” Taemin defends.

“I bet you were eager to do it, though, weren’t you? Bet you weren’t too difficult to persuade. Get in the lap of the symbol of the rebellion, earn yourself some infamy, the like, and have you come back here to brag?”

Jinki stands at that. “You’re angry at the wrong person,” he tells Minho, head tilted as he stares. “So why don’t you try and turn that pretty mouth of yours at me, hm? Or how about you tell me what it’s like for your private life, the most intimate part of your life, to be invaded without your consent?” He smiles bitterly. “If you want, I can tell you all about it. I’m an expert, you see.”

The other man has trouble meeting Jinki’s eyes. He can tell by the way Minho’s gaze roves around the room, never once settling on him. “Why did you have to bring Taemin?”

“Why did you have to come to my dreamscape?” Jinki rejoins, moving around the table.

“It was the only way to contact you safely.”

“Look at me!” Jinki bellows, a hand grasping Minho’s neck. He means it to be rough, but the very feel of Minho’s skin and the warmth it promises gentles it. “Look at me,” he repeats, voice hushed, tender. “Look at me Minho.”

His eyes finally settle back on him and it’s the most natural thing in the universe for Minho to settle his hands on his waist. Jinki brings his other hand up and uses both to cup his face. “You said we were meant to be.”

“I did.” Minho leans forward and their foreheads press against each other. Their eyes are wide open as they stare at each other.

“Will you come with me then?”

“Yes. I will.”

From behind, Jinki hears Taemin’s cough. “I’ll just excuse myself,” he mumbles and Jinki nods in response.

“Thank you, Taemin. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” Minho whispers, closing his eyes. “I didn’t mean— I was told that it’d be okay in the end.”

“It will be,” Jinki replies and, for once, he believes that yeah, maybe it will be. Minho presses a butterfly kiss to the corner of his mouth which turns into a full kiss, with Jinki running his hands through those lovely, dark curls of Minho’s and finger-shaped bruises are sure to appear on his waist later. He presses forward just a little stronger and Minho breaks off with a gasp.

“I— We should talk,” he mumbles, leaning forwards once more. Jinki’s eyes flutter closed.

“There is a lot to talk about, isn’t there.”

“Yeah. There is.”

“Surely it can wait.”

It’s tempting to let go of reality right here, in Minho’s home, and believe that this is yet another dreamscape. For all he really knows, this is a dream. He could have used memories he can’t consciously recall and had Taesun lead him on a chase to get him well and truly lost, to cause him to lose sense of where he is, of where reality is. It’s hard to believe that Minho is real too. He remembers Minho laughing when he asked if he was real or not, however long ago it was, and he knows that there should be no true distinction for them.

But dreamscapes are just that: dreams. Galaxies had spanned between them and in that dreamscape, and all the others, Jinki had put a blaster to Minho’s head. It was less tangible there, but now, with Minho’s hair tangled in his fingers and warm palms on his lower back, everything is sharper. Everything is in stronger focus.

He wants to just kiss Minho, like he has since he saw those blessed cheekbones and that kind smile that is uniquely Minho.

Jinki is not kind and, as the saying goes, he is his own harshest critique. He will not be good for Minho, he can tell that now. He will poison him, because that’s what he’s really done to all of his crew members. He’s just like his parents and, in the end, will be handed by discontents just like his parents were.

“It can wait,” Jinki finally whispers and pretends that this is a dream because sometimes reality is far too cruel.

 

 


	2. Minho

They break apart eventually and Minho is dazed as they let go of the other, wondering what exactly just happened. In Jinki’s dreamscape, he was never fully facing Jinki’s intensity; seeing it in front of him blinds him. The last thing he clearly remembers is pacing in the kitchen, talking to a holo of his teacher. Changmin had been frustrated with the panic on Minho’s face and had promised tersely that he’d be there shortly. Then he had entered the living room and anger had swept through him like nothing else seeing the way Taemin leaned towards Jinki unconsciously. Jinki has almost everything else, at least let Minho have Taemin.

But what happened between that moment and their bodies breaking apart is unclear and the not-knowing is filling him with panic once again.

“Minho!” He hears Changmin bellow and his gaze darts to where Changmin is filling the entryway. One hand is curled around Taemin’s ear. Taemin’s expression is sheepish, though Changmin’s is carefully controlled disappointment. “What are you doing?”

He watches Jinki’s body tense and puts a hand on his right wrist before Jinki goes for his blaster. “Jinki, this is Changmin, my teacher.”

Jinki sighs, eyes fluttering for a moment, and lets go of his blaster. “Changmin.”

“Jinki.”

“Can he explain why you can get into my dreams?”

Minho shifts. Jinki slowly swivels to pin Minho with his stare. He’s used to being intimidated by someone taller, like Changmin, but intimidation has nothing to do with height because Jinki can actually be very, very scary. “Uh, it’s a long story?”

“I guess we should have that talk now.” Jinki’s tone is tight, but Minho can still hear disappointment and regret in his voice. It’s hard not to hear things in a voice as expressive as Jinki’s.

“Maybe you should have done that instead of sticking your tongues down each other’s throats,” Changmin says and Jinki’s hand is quicker to his blaster than Minho can react to.

This is really not going well, Minho despairs as he stares at the blaster pointed at Changmin. This is going badly.

“I don’t like your tone, Changmin,” Jinki purrs. “And, you know what? Minho probably learned how to enter my dreamscapes due to you, so I’m leaning heavily towards killing you and getting what satisfaction I can from that.”

“Jinki,” Minho hisses, stepping closer, scant space between their bodies. “You can’t do that.”

The eyes that turn towards him are dispassionate and the blaster moves towards him, a slightly awkward twist over his body. “I might be in love with you, but that doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”

It’s a two-fold blow to Minho’s stomach. Love and forgiveness hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Captain?” Taemin’s cautious voice breaks the stare between them. “I can understand being angry, but maybe you’re over-reacting? Just a little?”

Jinki sighs and drops the blaster, smoothly returning it to his holster. Minho can’t help but be a little turned on by how the shirt tightens over his chest and the angle of Jinki’s face he gets. He’s never seen him put the blaster away; he’s only ever seen it aimed at him.

“It’s time we talk,” Jinki orders, pointing at the couch. “All of you sit.”

Changmin crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. “Excuse me, but I don’t know why I need to listen to you.”

As Minho brushes by Jinki, he can see that his left fist is clenched tightly and the fingers of his right hand are brushing the grip of the blaster. “You have two choices in front of you. You either sit down and listen or I shoot you and take your precious student. I’m not picky. I’ve killed enough, what’s one more death?”

“The dreamers wouldn’t be happy,” Changmin says, eyes darting to Minho and Taemin sitting on the couch. “It would be considered a breach of our code.”

“I don’t live by your code, in case you weren’t aware. I live by my own. Now, choose.”

Minho has known Changmin for years and he knows this expression particularly well: seconds away from strangling someone. With the blaster at Jinki’s hip, and his moods on the unpredictable side, Changmin losing his temper would not work out well for all of them. After a moment, Changmin seems to realize that as well and sits next to Taemin. Minho thinks he might be wounded for Changmin choosing Taemin over him, but he figures Changmin’s about ready to kill him and lets it go.

“Excellent, thank you,” Jinki says, arms crossed, legs akimbo in front of the couch. “I want answers.”

“If you were a bit more polite,” Changmin bites out, “maybe I’d be inclined to answer them.”

Minho swallows; Jinki narrows his eyes. “Why is Minho able to enter my dreamscape?”

Changmin’s eyes slide towards Minho and they share a look. In front of them, Jinki starts tapping a foot, the frozen neutral expression indicative of his anger. “That’s a Minho thing,” Changmin says when they turn back to face Jinki. “He’ll tell you later.” Minho nods to support Changmin’s words.

“What happened four years ago?”

This is another question for Minho, but it’s one he can’t answer. He’s never been able to talk about it, Minjung’s death, the aftermath, going deep into the tunnels of Janus VI, crawling on the ground, the things he talked with (they were not people, no specie he could tell, but _things_ , breathing, living off something Minho had not understood and isn’t sure he wants to), the things he _did_. Not just burning the military center, capitol building and police headquarters, but more. He doesn’t talk about it, and it is a miracle that he came back at all, much less alive.

Then again, if he hadn’t disappeared, Jinki wouldn’t be here in front of him. They wouldn’t have a destiny of any sorts, no matter how vehemently Jinki denies it, protests it, _it is truth, reality, worlds in between_. He still hears it in the things whispered, dry voices in his head. Maybe he’s never really escaped them.

Changmin reaches behind Taemin to hit Minho lightly in the back of his head. “Another secret kept from me, believe me. I wasn’t his teacher before his disappearance, but I’m the only one who would take the position afterwards.”

Jinki looks conflicted, like he wants to press for me and to respectfully back off. His eyes flick to Minho and promises a thorough interrogation later. “Accepted. Do you have outreaches to other dreamers across the universes?”

Changmin laughs. “Impossible. The manpower needed, not to mention resources… It’s impossible.”

“No, then, is your answer,” Jinki says, voice quiet with displeasure threatening something drastic. “It’s something you’re going to start working on.”

“You didn’t hear me,” Changmin says, aggravation now leaking into his tone. “It’s not possible.”

“Then you’re going to make it possible,” Jinki hisses back. “I didn’t go to school, not to anything, but I know that dreamers were once normal citizens across the universes, and we’re going to make it like that again. Money is not an issue. Whatever you need, I’ll provide.”

Changmin’s jaw drops. “You don’t understand,” he says after a few moments of Jinki looking smug. “It’s not possible, there are too many worlds to reach, distances too great—”

“There is no such thing as impossible,” Jinki interrupts with a wave of his hand. “Only the strength of your determination. Am I clear?” He sighs, softens the rigidity of his pose. “It’s not the work of a lifetime, Changmin. It is going to happen slowly, but it needs to happen. I don’t want kids inheriting a power they don’t understand.”

Minho knows he’s talking about himself, but Changmin probably doesn’t. Changmin is contained to himself; the apartment he lives in is severe with no screens or technology other than one attached to a headset he wears. His kitchen is well out-fitted, but he hardly uses it. He buys his food and disposes of it spotlessly. Sometimes his apartment doesn’t look like he lives in it, though Minho knows it’s the opposite: he rarely leaves it.

“I’ll talk to the council,” Changmin finally sighs. “As you say, it’s not going to be finished during our lives, but I see your point.”

Jinki frowns at nothing in particular and Minho leans forward. Changmin lays a hand on his shoulder. “I need to talk with Changmin alone,” he finally says. Minho stares at Jinki, waiting for him to look at him, but Jinki stares at Changmin. “I won’t kill you,” he promises.

Minho glances back at Changmin, feeling something like betrayal. It makes no sense. “Sure.” Changmin stands, legs unfolding, tall and graceful. He follows Jinki to the kitchen.

Minho wants to follow, but he knows better. Taemin glances after them and then scoots closer. “What exactly is going on?” he asks. “What is Captain talking about?”

“He’s a dreamer,” Minho mutters. “It’s about dreaming.” He abruptly stands and starts pacing. Taemin remains lounging on the couch and raises an eyebrow when their eyes meet.

“You’ve got it bad,” he comments.

“Shut it,” Minho says. “It’s none of your business.”

“No, you see,” Taemin says, expression inching towards hostile. “I am here for my Captain, a captain I would gladly die for you. You mess with him, you will have more than just me on your ass. Don’t think that there is a single person on his ship that would not do anything for him. Death isn’t a fear when it comes to him.”

Minho glances towards the kitchen. The glass door is closed and all he can see is his back. But just from his back, Minho can sense his anxiety. He doesn’t know what the anxiety is for, but his shoulders are tense. Everything in his body is tense.

“He is everything, Taemin,” Minho says simply. “He is more than me and you, you know. He is a universal sign of freedom, of equality. I need to help him.”

Taemin snorts. “I never knew you were such a romantic.”

“I’m not. I— Things have changed,” Minho replies. The voices never truly leave him. Sometimes Minho thinks he’s crazy, but they did lead him to Jinki. He can’t be truly crazy then.

“Clearly.” Taemin’s smiling though, a good sign, and he stands up and hugs Minho tightly. “I missed you a lot.”

Minho cautiously hugs him back, but after a squeeze, makes it a tight hug. “Life’s been hell since you left.”

“I’m part of the most notorious crew in the universe. It’s not like I can just come back whenever I want— it’s not like I’m on Littio, just a jump and a bump away.”

Minho is the one who breaks the hug. “Your parents miss you,” he comments, shoving his hands into his pocket. “They ask me about you every day.”

Taemin’s face shutters. “I’m not going home,” he says. “I’m not.”

“Never said you should,” Minho reassures.

There’s a knock on the glass door and Jinki is looking at him with an impassive face. “Pack necessities, we’re leaving as soon as you’re done.”

 

 

Minho’s never been to the surface. He’s been to the core, but not the surface. He’s never seen the starry sky, full of other living beings, creatures, the like— he doesn’t like it. He felt better tucked in his little apartment, secure in the knowledge of who he is, but the sheer size of space is utterly terrifying.

Jinki, next to him, takes a deep breath. The air is hardly breathable on the surface, and Jinki passes him an oxygenator and pulls another from a pocket for himself. “Glorious, isn’t it,” he murmurs, starting to walk.

“It’s okay,” Minho replies. The surface of Novus VI is ugly, unlike the center. Uncut gems, most of the Novus planets. The beauty is inside.

“Jjong,” Jinki says, pressing something at his ear. “We’re here.”

A spacepod appears and Minho involuntarily takes a step back. A ramp comes down and Jinki walks up it without a pause. Taemin follows, but shoots a glance back to Minho and gestures for him to come aboard.

He does so hesitantly. There’s another person on board, a short man, who glares at him.

“So you’re Minho,” he says with a look up and down then turns to Jinki. “We good Captain?”

“We’re good Jjong,” Jinki replies heading to the cockpit. “I need to get back to the Shining Star.”

Jjong glances back at Minho with hostility before following Jinki to the cockpit. Minho stands there, unsure. The entire interior is unfamiliar, metallic in color and cold. So cold. There are lights Minho doesn’t understand, levers that puzzle him, and eventually Taemin seems to pity him and leads him to a seat and helps him with the buckle.

“You’ve never left Novus VI,” he murmurs. “I forgot. You’ll find your space legs soon enough.”

“I’m not too sure about that,” Minho replies as the pod shudders and takes off. He feels queasy, and it doesn’t lighten as time passes. The trip to the main ship takes around fifteen minutes and Minho starts to believe that he is not meant for space travel.

They dock and Minho’s hands are so stuck that Taemin has to help him unbuckle. Jinki looks at him as he walks by and stops. He puts a hand on Jjong’s shoulder and leans in to whisper in his ear. Minho deals with the next glare Jjong sends his way but then Jinki is putting a hand on his forehead, a small line creasing his forehead. His hand is cool and it feels perfect.

“Has he ever been in space before?” he asks Taemin. Minho nods.

“No, captain, it’s his first time. I don’t think he got to the surface much, if ever, either.”

“Fuck,” Jinki mumbles. “Let’s get him standing.”

“I don’t feel good,” Minho mumbles as Jinki and Taemin hook arms around him and help him up.

“We’ll get you some medicine,” Jinki says in a soothing voice. “I didn’t know you hadn’t been in space, so hadn’t thought of it.”

Minho doesn’t know how long it takes, each step agonizing, head pounding and stomach roiling, but eventually he is laid down on a bed in another metallic room. The colors make him dizzy and there’s a sense of his insignificance, the small size of who he is— who does he think he is that he can achieve change? He is a speck of dust set alight by stars; he is nothing. Nothing. The voices in his head are wrong. Everything is _wrong_.

A needle is stuck into his arm; he shivers and falls unconscious.

 

 

The lights are too bright to be home. There is too much metal, not enough red and blue. Where is his holo— did his alarm not go off? He shifts in his bed, which also doesn’t feel right, and eyes rove aimless around the room. There’s metal everywhere and a low, regular beep he doesn’t recognize.

Events fall into place and a woman comes up to him with a small smile. “How’re you feeling?” she asks, a medical tablet in hand. “Your vitals look much better. Entering space for the first time is hard on everyone, so don’t worry. How do you feel now?” He opens his mouth to speak, but his throat is dry. “There’s water next to you,” she says, gesturing to a glass. He sits up and drains it.

“I feel much better,” he says. The headache is gone and there’s only a small remnant of the nausea. Best news is, the insignificance is also gone. Minho couldn’t have lived another moment thinking of how meaningless his existence is. He has to believe he’s worth something.

“Good. We’ll need you on a regiment of supplements because we won’t be landing for a while. Typically space-farers are gradually acclimated, but we don’t have that luxury on the Shining Star. Do you understand?”

He nods.

“Good,” she continues, tapping something on the tablet and then takes a bottle from her pocket. “Here are your supplements. Take two daily, when you wake up and when you sleep. If you have trouble sleeping, or need more help, come see me again.”

“Uh,” Minho says, taking the pills and looking at the bottle. “Where am I? And who exactly are you?”

“I’m the ship doctor,” she says with a smile. “Georgia. This is med-bay. I take care of all the ailments and have helped everyone on board with dealing with space sickness. Except, of course, the Captain.”

She states it like it’s obvious. Minho doesn’t ask. “Where am I supposed to go now?”

“No one’s told you?” Georgia’s surprised. “I’ll contact someone and figure it out. Why don’t you just lay down and rest a little longer? You’re likely still dizzy.”

She pushes his shoulder down with a gentle but insistent hand and walks away.

It’s hard to lay here and know that he’s in space. He dreamed about this when younger, especially when he was serious about joining the Rebellion. He dreamed about what it’d be like to be in space, held aloft by science, but it feels more like magic. These were not dreamscapes, but nights when he slept he imagined this falling asleep.

The gravity feels different on a ship than on Novus VI. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised; Novus planets are known for heavy gravity despite the anti-gravity installments around residential areas. He can’t sense it here. The ship feels like limbo.

Minho closes his eyes and he must fall asleep because Taemin is there when he opens them. He looks serious, frowning at something in his hand before he notices Minho’s fluttering eyes.

“Minho, you’re awake.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, sitting up. “I didn’t realize I fell asleep.”

“I totally forgot about space-sickness, sorry,” Taemin apologizes. “This is my fault.”

“You’re not the only one,” Minho reassures. “I remember hearing about it, but didn’t realize how bad it is.”

“It’s not so bad for everyone,” Georgia says, coming from the back. “Good to see you awake again. Taesun,” she nods to Taemin. Minho frowns.

“Taesun?” he echoes.

“It’s my rebel name,” Taemin reassures quickly in a low voice. “I’ll take him to the bridge,” he tells Georgia. “Captain wants to talk to him.”

Georgia sighs. “He’s sleeping, right? He’s overdosing on stims.”

Taemin shrugs. “I can’t say.”

“Well, go on, take your friend,” Georgia says with a forced smile. “See me if you need help.”

 

 

If Taemin wasn’t guiding him, Minho would be lost already. He stares at everyone and thing they pass. There are no plants on the ship, but that’s because they hate space, and a little less than half those they pass are of a specie of one type or the other. Minho hasn’t seen the likes of all they pass and it is the tap of Taemin’s shoes that keep him moving.

The metal in the hallways is somewhat diluted by hangings, but there’s only so much they can do. Taemin explains that they’re not everywhere, just a few certain hallways to relieve tension. Minho understands that.

Taemin presses a button and a door opens— from where, Minho has no idea— and enters. Minho follows and tries not to shrink as suddenly all eyes are on him. One of them is Jjong, eyes narrowed. But as Minho looks around, the nerves of all those eyes on him fall away. The view in front is of space, the view shifting every few seconds as they gravity hop. This is what it looks like to gravity hop, shifting from one locale of gravity to the next, navigating between planets and stars and using supernovas as a boost: flecks of light speeding past them as thin lines, swirls of colors in the distance visible.

“Is that Minho?” Jinki’s voice asks.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he replies and a chair swings around to face him.

He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept in days. Georgia’s words come to mind, _he’s been overdosing on stims_. He doesn’t understand why.

“Good,” Jinki says, standing. Everyone’s eyes turn back to him. “I’ll show you your quarters. Continue your business,” he says with a wave of the hand as he walks to Minho. “Thanks for picking him up, Tae,” he says with a pat on the shoulder. “Now back to work.”

Jinki leaves the bridge and, glancing around and avoiding Jjong’s burning gaze, follows Jinki.

“My quarters?” he asks.

“Sorry to say you don’t get your own room anymore,” Jinki says without looking at him, striding confidently and assuredly. “You’ll have a roommate.”

“Oh. Who? What’re they like?”

Jinki doesn’t reply and continues walking. They take a right turn and walk a little more until he stops. Minho thinks he can find his way back to the bridge, but isn’t positive. Jinki keys in a code and lets something scan his eyes — why would that be necessary for Minho’s room? The door swings open.

“Please, enter.” Jinki stares at him with serious eyes and Minho cautiously enters. It’s plain, and much like the rest of the ship. There are stains on the walls around him and dim lights that brighten when he enters around the edges of the room. A desk stands in the center of the room, with tablets stacked on top of it. Other than that, it’s empty. There’s an archway to the right and that room is currently dark.

“Your roommate is me,” Jinki says, the door swinging shut behind him.

“Is that a good idea?”

Jinki raises an eyebrow. “Do we need to talk about why you’re here?”

Minho stares at Jinki. His face is rather expressionless, though Minho thinks he can see cracks that are starting to form. He is tired of this life. Minho found that out through their meetings in Jinki’s dreamscape. Jinki is tired of this life and tired of being the son of famous, executed rebels; his name is said as a warning to good little children at home, about the dangers of fighting oppression. Minho wonders how much Jinki knows about that. Jinki is the tagline of bad things happening to you, but he is also a story of strength to countless others.

“No, I think we’re good.”

Jinki nods curtly and then walks through the archway. Lights set in the center of the floor brighten and Minho glances around skeptically. He recognizes dated dreamscapes on the shelves that circle the room, but it is the bed he’s not sure about.

“One bed?” he asks. “Where am I going to sleep?”

Jinki stares at the bed and the gaze he gives Minho is empty. “Technically we will share it, but I don’t sleep. It’s yours.”

“You— you don’t sleep?” he echoes incredulously. “That’s crazy. How are you functioning?”

“I don’t sleep, Minho,” Jinki grits and Minho notices his dominant hand twitching. He is used to that twitching; in the dreamscape it indicated the drawing and Minho’s departure.

“Why don’t you sleep?”

Jinki stares at him. He’s pale and the shadows under his eyes worry Minho— _he’s overdosing on stim_ s _._ Now Minho notices fine tremors in his hands, throughout his entire body in fact, and steps closer. Jinki’s eyes are nearly dead as he continues staring at him.

“You’ve been haunting me,” Jinki says when Minho’s hand is hovering over his cheek. “You come to me in every dreamscape and I don’t sleep, Minho, I can’t.”

“Everyone can sleep,” Minho murmurs, letting their skin touch when he’s sure Jinki won’t pull away. “Close your eyes and fall.”

“I’ve not had such an easy life that sleep is easy,” Jinki says, placing a hand over Minho’s. “You’ll take the bed.”

Minho rubs a finger over his cheek. His skin is slightly cold, though Minho can feel it slowly warm under his palm. His hand is cold too. “We’ll share,” he decides, bringing his other hand up to now cup his face, both thumbs rubbing along his cheekbones. “When’s the last time you rested?”

Jinki shrugs, shoulders sagging. “I don’t know,” he quietly admits, and this is all Minho needs to know to start moving. He removes his hands from Jinki’s cheeks, whose eyes flutter closed until Minho bends to sweep him off his feet.

“You’re resting now,” Minho states and is thankful that the bed is close for two fold reason: Jinki is a full grown adult and that means he is both heavy and knows how to fight. He sets him down like he’s a porcelain doll. Jinki had started to struggle and now pushes him away.

“Don’t— don’t do that,” he whispers, sounding more timid than scared. His eyes are wide, staring again. He’s different with just the two of them in this room, in a puzzling way that Minho will attempt to solve later.

“Sleep,” Minho whispers, taking off Jinki’s shoes and then taking his own off. “I’ll sleep next to you,” he says, crawling next to him. “It’s okay.”

Jinki curls his body and Minho cuddles up to him. He’s cold and Minho doesn’t know if this is a normal thing, or something else, but Minho aligns their body whatever the case. Jinki lets out a small noise, a noise Minho can’t identify. He is not tired, but Minho knows this is important and he puts an arm over Jinki’s waist, protecting him best he can.

“Sleep,” he murmurs, near Jinki’s ear. There’s a soft sigh and then silence.

Minho does not fall asleep for a long time. He has slept enough, he thinks, and then there is the medicine to take if he were. Jinki shifts some in his sleep and Minho follows his movements, containing him whenever he starts to either shiver or move violently. He whispers sweet nothings into Jinki’s ear, thinking that they probably won’t work, but they do. Jinki relaxes whenever Minho moves and, sometime later, he turns onto his back and finally so that he faces Minho.

His side starts hurting, but Minho spends a countless time memorizing that face from this close without thinking of a single other thing. He looks… surprisingly normal, and young. Minho’s not sure why it’s surprising, but Jinki looks like just another man. He is accustomed to the portrayal by news outlets and so on; they chose shoots of him being angry and there is usually blood involved. In the dreamscapes, Jinki never looked at peace like he does now.

There are no lines on his face and Minho can feel the slow in and out breathing pattern of sleep from where their bodies touch. There is more color in his cheeks now and he looks healthier, even in the midst of sleep. Jinki shifts slightly, head digging into the pillow; his hair is messed up even further and Minho runs a hand through the tips. Jinki frowns and Minho withdraws his hand, letting his arm settle back at his waist.

When Minho falls asleep, it is like that: bodies curled towards each other and foreheads nearly touching.

 

 

When Minho wakes up, he is alone. He’s not thinking right, not quite yet, and sits up, rubbing his fuzzy eyes with the heel of his hands and then takes his medicine. Jinki’s shoes are gone and Minho slips his on when he gets off the bed and goes to inspect the dreamscapes along the wall.

Most of them are old; there are some that Minho recognizes as being far older than himself, and those call to him in a way the others don’t. There are a few newer ones, but nearly all are of a terrible quality that lets Minho know that they were likely bought at a black market. He shouldn’t be surprised; Jinki is, after all, wanted in most places and dreamscapes are hard to obtain normally.

He touches a few of them and knows that, if he wanted, he could enter them. Something changed, when he went off the grid so long ago. Something changed within him that he has never understood. He is different from other dreamers and sometimes Minho is positive that it is not a good change. It is not right that he can enter other peoples dreamscapes, and get in from a large distance. They are private things, those dreams. He tries to refrain, but he wasn’t able to keep himself from Jinki’s for very long.

It is meant to be. _It is truth, reality, worlds in between._ Minho hates prophecies and he hates even more that this is all he can remember of this one.

He slips to the other room and expects it, too, to be empty, but Jinki is sitting at the desk, reading something.

“Hello,” he says casually, with a glance up towards Minho. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Minho says, a little off-balance. “What are you doing?”

“Reports,” Jinki says, frowning and taking a utensil and scribbling something down on the tablet. “They’ve been left undone for a while.”

“Can I help at all?” Jinki’s hands still and his gaze slowly swings towards Minho. His eyes are searching and Minho approaches with determination. “I can sort through some of these as well,” he offers, peering at the top tablet.

Jinki still doesn’t say anything, though he adds one more scribble before putting it aside. “It would be appreciated.”

“I’ll start then,” Minho says, pleased, and picks up the tablet he had been peering at.

They work for a while in silence; Minho is soon shifting and Jinki keeps sending him these looks that get to him. He doesn’t know why Jinki keeps on looking at him like that, bemused but somehow incredibly pleased.

“Is it possible to bring another desk here?” he asks after he sets aside a tablet asking for democratic help a year ago. He remembers the name of the planet from a galactic news station, just a snippet of sound, and how anarchy caused the planet to be razed by the Universal Coalition. No one from the rebellion arrived to help.

Jinki glances around the room and Minho looks again for a second time. He wonders if the stains in the walls are really impossible to get out. “I suppose so,” Jinki answers. “Ask Jjong about it. He’ll work it out.” Minho fiddles with the tablets for a few moments and Jinki speaks again. “Can you answer my questions now?

Minho side-glances at Jinki. “Which questions?”

“Why can you do what you do? What happened four years ago?”

His fingers still on the tablets. There is no way to broach what happened to Jinki, no way that could make sense to anyone. Minho doesn’t understand what happened himself; there’s no way for him to explain it.

“I’ll go ask Jjong,” Minho says. Jinki’s eyes burn as he leaves.

Jjong does not look pleased to see him. “What?” he asks shortly when Minho approaches him after navigating the ship with help.

“I— is there a problem?” Minho asks instead of about the desk. “We don’t know each other.”

“No problem whatsoever,” he says with a razor smile. “Now, what do you want?”

There’s a snicker from the seat in front of the captains chair. “I think we have a problem,” Minho insists, raising an eyebrow.

Jjong’s mouth is a flat line and he glances to the man who snickered before jerking his head to the exit. “Somewhere private,” he explains as he knocks on a door and pushes Minho into an empty meeting room. “Now sit.”

Minho does, bewildered. “What? Why?”

“Because I said so,” Jjong snapped. “I need to tell you some things.”

Which is incredibly elucidating, thank you, Minho thinks as he sits sullenly. He gets treated like a child more often than he likes; who does the universe think he is? He is not a child to be pushed around like this. “Please, tell me then.”

“You are not to fuck with captain,” Jjong says, staring at Minho until he gets a nod. “I don’t know what he wants with you, but my job is to protect him, whatever the capacity.”

Minho leans back in his chair, trying for a nonchalance that would give him an edge. “Who are you to demand that of me?”

Jjong huffs, glancing around the room. When they return to Minho, his face is no longer angry, just serious. “Nearly everyone on this ship knows him from before the execution, one of the exceptions being your friend, but no one has known him as long as I have. I don’t know what you want of him, but if I disagree, I will put my foot down.”

“He’s—” Minho starts, about to say ‘ _everything’_ , but stops himself. “He is a savior, surely you know that?”

“Oh, no, you’re one of those types,” Jjong says, disgust creeping into his face. “You think he’s the end all be all of the rebellion, don’t you?”

“But he is,” Minho insists, sitting forward. Jjong huffs.

“You know nothing,” he growls, “of what he’s done. You make one mistake and you’re gone— no matter what he says, you will be gone. Are we clear?”

Minho nods, because there’s not much else for him to do.

“Say it,” Jjong commands.

“Understood,” Minho says curtly. “Are we good now?”

Jjong crosses his arms, spreading his legs. “Go ahead.”

“I need another desk in Jinki’s quarters. We are, after all, roommates now.”

Jjong stares at him, stance loosing confidence rapidly. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Fine, I’ll see if we have any extras. Dismissed.”

Minho doesn’t, at first, understand what that means but Jjong soon starts tapping his foot, face tense, and so Minho stands and leaves.

But now what is he supposed to do?

 

 

Minho acclimates to space life in degrees. The medicine helps, but after three days— was it three days? Minho doesn’t understand how time works in space— he wakes up with a pounding head, feeling like his body is incredibly small and the room more infinite than space. There are voices in his head and, as he always does, Minho does his best to block them.

Jinki takes him to medbay and leaves when Georgia is running checks on his vitals. He sways, despite his seated position, eyes on his back until the door shuts. Georgia hums something under her breath as she goes through cabinets.

“…so old,” Minho hears her mutter.

“What?”

“Oh,” Georgia says, with a backwards glances to him. “This ship, it’s old. Actually, it might be why your space-sickness isn’t getting better.”

“The age of the ships affect that?”

She shrugs and pulls something from a shelf. “Could be, don’t know for sure. I just want a modern med-bay, with holo manifestos and such. It would make my life so much easier than tablets and archaic shelves.” She comes back to him with two, large pills resting on her palm. “Take them, go back to sleep.”

 

 

All the pills in the bottle are taken and Minho wakes up alone more often than not. There are two desks in the other room and he spends most of his time either working at the desk, alone or sometimes with Jinki, or in the cafeteria with Taemin. He does not make new friends; most of the crew looks at him with suspicion. He hears some of the things they mutter— _where’s his retrofit? what’s his deal with Captain? why is he here?_

He doesn’t blame them. Minho doesn’t know the answer to any of them himself. He knows it’s not space-sickness, but his grip on reality is slipping. When he walks through the halls, Minho feels separate from himself, the metal walls around him not quite real. When he sleeps, his dreams are fuzzy and terrifying, but he wakes up without a memory, shivering, drenched in sweat.

It would be nice if Changmin were here, Minho thinks one time. The shelves beckon to him more strongly than those voices commanded him years ago. They call, sirens, a host of them, multitudes upon multitudes, they _need_ him to pick them up and enter them.

Some are stronger than others and he gives in.

When a child, and first picked up by Leilan, his first teacher, Minho had been taught the Precepts: do not spend too much time there, do not touch other’s dreamscapes, what happens to you in the dream happens on the physical plane. There are more, others, but the Precepts seem to apply to him less and less.

Others might not recognize it, but he is as alone as Jinki. There is no one like Jinki in the universes, and there is no one like Minho.

The dreamscape twists in his hands and he almost slips in. It is wrong, diseased; it is a ship so battered that the material was warped into a shape no longer a ship.

But, _oh_ , the call is bewitching. _Pick me up, it won’t do any harm, let us teach you a whole new world, a world that burns exquisitely_ —

It is another voice in his head.

 

 

Jinki starts looking tense— rather, he looks more tense, as there is always tension in his body whenever awake. They’re going somewhere and Jinki’s not looking forward to it. It hasn’t been broadcast, but Minho knows.

“Where are we going?” he asks when they’re sitting down together.

Jinki sighs. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

 

 

People are busy, moving with greater concentration, with a purpose Minho lacks. He doesn’t know what’s happening and he retreats to his shared rooms with Jinki and fiddles with one of his own dreamscapes. They are such small things, Minho thinks as he holds it. So small, yet— they have an infinite capacity to be anything, everything, nothing. Centuries ago, really not that long a time, millions died for these. There were wars waged; the results: death, death, death. Greater restrictions on movement, people, an eye watching every being.

He doesn’t enter it and, soon enough, Jinki enters.

“Minho?” he says, and stops at the doorframe. The entire family stare at him; parents and son all look like strangers and like Minho has known them from all previous lives.

“I’m here.”

Jinki’s mouth tightens and he tosses a blaster onto the bed. “You’ll need this.”

Minho doesn’t pick it up; he knows what it feels like pressed against his forehead and he’s seen them enough times to understand, but this— this he doesn’t understand.

“We have a mission,” Jinki says. “And you’ll be with me.”

Minho’s eyes flick back to Jinki. “I’m going with you?”

Jinki nods. “Take the blaster.”

“I don’t know how to use it.”

“Shoot and fire,” Jinki growls, stalking over to the bed. “It’s not that hard. I need you to take the damn blaster and come with me.”

It’s odd how, in that moment, Minho feels like all the galaxies are silenced. There is his heartbeat, the rustle of sheets as Jinki reaches across to take the blaster. His fingers are warm as he takes Minho’s hand to press it into his hand. There is the slight murmur of skin brushing skin and, for a moment, Minho can hear Jinki’s heartbeat.

His fingers curl around the grip. It’s off, for now. Minho is no innocent, but he cannot imagine using it. It’s— he likes fire, the anticipation and build-up of a good burn. He does not want to use a weapon that has been pointed at him so many times.

Minho looks up at Jinki. His face is blank— which is wrong, Minho knows. He does not know Jinki the way Jjong knows him, but he _knows_ Jinki. He knows where Jinki is supposed to go, how he is to be, and through that he knows who Jinki _is_. His face is not blank but expectant. His mouth is vaguely soft and as Minho stares, he swallows and that fills Minho’s ears.

“It’ll be more dangerous on the ship,” Jinki says. “You are safest with me.”

It doesn’t seem possible, but then again, anything from Jinki is truth.

Jinki leans in and kisses him. It is the first time they have touched other than the times Minho has woken up with Jinki desperately clinging to him.

He doesn’t stay close for long and it feels almost businesslike as Jinki goes to the frame way. “I’ll be waiting by the pods.”

 

 

The planet is small and teeming with green plants and specie. Minho thought he was rather sophisticated back on Novus VI because of the intermingling he grew up with, but he has never seen these before. There is also a deep sense of peace that permeates the place and Minho doesn’t understand why he needed the blaster tucked in his back pocket. It’s almost— it’s almost as though he can feel it brushing upon the surface of his mind, begging to be let in.

His hand strays to pat his back pocket, as though a habit already. Jinki glances at him, and Minho shrugs.

They walk away from the pod, into the peaks and valleys teeming with life. They are careful where they walk; Minho spots only four other humans on the surface. Specie do the equivalent of glaring at them, though their gazes turn either curious or shuttered when they see Jinki.

His reputation proceeds him.

“It’s this way,” Jinki says, jerking his head to the left, but stops. The others who are with them shift and there are indistinct murmurs. “Minho’s the only one coming with me.”

“What—” one of them exclaims. “There’s no way, Captain. We’re coming with you.”

Jinki stares at Minho and their eyes lock. “This is business for us only.”

Minho shivers when Jinki breaks the stare. His moves are sharp and he walks faster than Minho, despite Minho’s longer legs. The others stay behind, obedient, faithful.

The area is not as verdant nor vibrant as the others; the dips and curves of the land are more exaggerated. The specie are few, though there are still living plants moving around. Minho takes a glance behind them and the others seem impossibly distant.

“We’re in the Klannea universe and this is Klantin,” Jinki tells him. “It’s not well known, but to those who do know them, are aware of how the planets bend rules that apply to all others.” He pauses his walking and gives Minho a smile. It’s— unexpected and perfect, a beautiful scene set: no one around, on a planet teeming with life, a smile on a face usually stern.

“It’s amazing,” Minho says. “Completely different from Novus VI.”

Jinki shrugs and resumes moving. “The Novus galaxy has its fair share of problems, like elsewhere, but Novus VI is something of a rarity. Your home world is special. Be proud.”

His heart feels warm and Minho brings a hand to his chest. Is it beating faster? Jinki doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, and gets a little ahead of Minho— it seems like a huge distance, but with a few moments of scurrying they are walking side by side again. It’s confusing, but this doesn’t rank high amongst other mysteries.

“Where are we going?”

Jinki glances around; there are less specie and plants than before and the valleys have turned into canyons and peaks into mountains. They are surprisingly easy to navigate and Minho doesn’t feel tired by the exercise.

“I’ve done research,” he says. “About dreamscapes and dreamers. There’s someone here you need to talk to.”

There are warning bells in Minho’s head— “I need to speak to them? Why me, not you?”

“Just follow me.”

“No,” Minho insists, grabbing Jinki’s shoulder. He’s smaller than Minho thought, which, how? He’s secretly measured the breadth of these shoulders, the arch of fingers, the power of his legs; yet, even so, Jinki’s body is a surprise.

Jinki’s quick to react and a blaster is nearly kissing Minho’s temple when his arm drops. “I’m trying to break the habit,” he says, putting the blaster away. “Its kept me alive for years and I’m not sure if I want to.”

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a mystic out here, an unusual specie, who might be able to answer questions.”

Minho frowns. “How do you know I have questions?”

“It’s obvious. Changmin is clueless, as well as you. Now, can we go?”

Jinki is never patient and is walking before Minho can give a reply. He has no choice but to follow— that’s how their relationship works, it seems. Jinki moves and Minho complies. It doesn’t seem right, but Jinki is larger than their ship, this planet, everything altogether, so Minho goes along with it. Sometimes Jinki doesn’t seem quite human though, between the two of them, Minho’s the one who’s a little less than human.

“Here we are,” Jinki mutters after a few more moments of walking. There’s a crevice in the ground with stairs spiraling down. Minho peers down, but there’s nothing to see except stairs. “Don’t think it’ll be too bad,” Jinki says. “Want to go first?” Minho shrugs and starts the trek down.

He doesn’t know how long it takes to reach the bottom, but one moment Minho is glancing to reassure himself that Jinki is following, and then his feet hit the bottom. He can’t see the dark white sky of this planet, but the rock walls exude light. He steps forward and then there’s a booming voice.

“Visitors? Hmm, who could it be?”

Minho’s hand goes to his blaster and Jinki steps forward, already holding his out, brow furrows. Minho copies Jinki’s stance best he can, holding his blaster out in the same grip, glancing around.

“I’m Lee Jinki and with me is Minho. We’ve come seeking answers.”

There’s a deep chuckle, reverberating through the rocky terrain around them. Minho swallows.

“Answers, is it? And why should I give them?”

Jinki doesn’t say anything and then tosses his blaster down; Minho’s eyes widen and he glances frantically between the blaster on the floor and the other man. “Because we’re probably the most interesting people you’ll ever meet.”

Raucous laughter surrounds them and then a diminutive specie breaks from the ceiling, landing in front of them. It’s no higher than Minho’s knee and blends with the colors around them, sharp edges with soft light lining them.

“I’m Klanter, the last of my kind. How are you two on this fair day?”

Jinki smiles and takes Minho’s blaster from his hand and tosses it on the ground. “I’m glad you’ve decided to speak with us.”

“It’s been centuries since I’ve met anyone as interesting as you two, much less a human of interest. Very few know I even exist.”

“It was a lot of work finding someone who could answer some of our questions,” Jinki says. “Minho has a lot.”

Klanter turns its eyes to him— they’re not quite eyes. Its body is made entirely of rock formations that exude a gentle light, and it seems to obtain visuals through brighter spots of light that rove the body.

“Ah. Minho. I’ve heard about you. You were brave on Novus VI; not many dare go so deep.”

“I’ve regretted it every day since.”

Klanter laughs and it booms through the underground cave, or tunnel, they’re in. “Can’t wait to tell them. Always though they were sort of pissholes anyways.”

“Pissholes,” Minho echoes faintly, thinking of the things far underneath the core of Novus VI that had changed his life.

“Yeah, boring stooges, but weirdly melodramatic. Hope they didn’t traumatize you too bad. I had to fix the last person they talked to— kept on babbling about saving all the worlds.” Klanter’s lights brighten. “That’s what they told you too, isn’t it?”

Minho nods and Jinki glances between him and Klanter and sighs. “Might as well get comfortable,” he says and sits down. “We might be here for a while.”

“Nah, not really,” Klanter says. “Just know that you two are on the right path.”

“What are you?” Minho blurts. “What are you, and what were they?”

Klanter hums and Minho can feel the rock around them tremble with it. “We are what were once called Originals— we aren’t taught in your history books anymore. I’m the last of this planet, and the Klantin galaxy doesn’t have many more Originals than just me. The ones you met were once upon a time known as Sgeran, but now they have no name. They are the last Originals in what is now the Novus galaxy.”

“Things change,” Jinki says. “Things are always in flux and time relentlessly moves forward.”

“Right, right,” Klanter says dismissively. “An ever moving line, time, never stopping for no body ever. It makes the lonely lonelier and the angry angrier. Funny, huh.”

“Not really,” Jinki says darkly. “The ever marching soldier.”

Klanter laughs. “I like you a far sight more than I ever liked your parents. They were oddballs.”

“What?” Jinki’s body tenses, posture straightening to an uncomfortable degree. “You met my— my parents?”

“Not the way you’re thinking of, but yes, I did,” Klanter hums. “I did indeed, in their dreams. Oddballs. Totally weird.” There’s a heavy pause and his voice is sly as he adds, “You’re nothing like them.”

Minho’s knows Jinki’s parents as both heroes and anarchists; their execution was everywhere as the Universal Coalition’s attempt to claim the Revolution would die without its leaders. They were wrong as Jinki’s crying face was broadcast to the side, almost fifteen, but seeming younger, vulnerable, someone who beckoned to youth and adults alike across the universes.

His parents were the founders of the Revolution, but it was Jinki who jumpstarted it. Other than their ruthlessness whilst fighting, there is little that is commonly know about them, only rumors.

“They were delusional,” Jinki says, but sounds unsure. “Insane.”

“And I’m saying you’re not. Isn’t that a good thing? Means you’re sane.”

Jinki doesn’t reply and his posture doesn’t change.

“Did the— the things, from Novus, they changed me. Didn’t they?”

Klanter’s light gaze turns to Minho. “They did. It’s a bad habit of theirs.”

“I can do things I’m not supposed to, as a dreamer, like enter other people’s dreamscapes and—”

“Keep that to a minimum,” Klanter says, cutting Minho off. “All of your new abilities, keep to a minimum. Bad things could happen if you don’t.”

Minho swallows and Jinki stands, back a harsh line, and he’s facing away from Minho so he can’t see the expression on Jinki’s face. “We’re leaving now, Klanter. Thank you for your time.”

Klanter starts sliding across the floor. “You two are quite interesting. The Sgeran haven’t been seen in many a century and Jinki— your parents? Don’t worry so much.”

“We take our leave now,” Jinki says, too formal, too polite, and turns to Minho. “We’re leaving.”

“Bye!” Klanter calls as Minho turns to follow Jinki up the stairs. “Come visit me at the end!”

Minho glances back before he starts ascending and he can’t spot the diminutive— Original, wasn’t it? He’s never heard of such a specie before, and he wishes he could ask more, but Jinki’s tension prevents more. His eyes scan the rocks around them and, slowly, the glow dims until it’s nearly extinguished and he can’t make Klanter out at all.

It’s a signal and Minho follows Jinki up.

The planet is a mystery because the stairs lead to the crew members they had left behind. Jinki is short with them as they return to the ship.

“Why did we all come?” someone asks. “If we’re to go back without having done anything.”

“You came with in case of hostile specie,” Jinki says, not looking at any of them as he moves forward. “We need to get back to the Shining Star.”

There’s a short grumble amongst the crew, but they are obedient. Minho knows why he’s obedient, because of what he was told by the Sgeran— but is that even true? As they stride through the idyllic green of this planet, they enter more specie populated areas and Minho can’t get anything straight anymore. Is this destiny, or is this the Sgeran making shit up?

Minho watches Jinki stride forward, head high and proud, shoulders flat, and wonders if he wanted to be needed so badly he made everything up.

 

 

When they reach the Shining Star, Taemin grins as he bounds over. “How was it?” he asks with a cocked brow and a thump to Minho’s shoulder. “Great, right? I love getting planet-side.”

“It’s— it was interesting.”

Taemin’s grin falters. “Did something happen?”

“I think I need to be alone.”

Taemin steps away, hand falling from his shoulder, concern writ over his face. “Are you okay?”

“I need to be alone. Please.”

“Sure, okay, fine,” Taemin says with a helpless gesture. “Whatever you need.”

Minho walks away and soon Jinki falls into step with him. They don’t talk and they enter Jinki’s rooms together. Still, they don’t talk.

It is too much information to process. Minho doesn’t know where to begin; that might even be in part because it’s information that is no longer known anywhere. The Sgeran, Originals, Klanter— it is all just _too much_. Minho doesn’t even look at Jinki as he breezes through to the bed and curls up.

“I’m sorry,” Jinki says, falling next to him. “I didn’t know it’d be like that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me what we were doing?”

“Neither of us knows what we’re doing,” Jinki says and curls around Minho. It’s weird; Minho got used to curling around Jinki and doesn’t know how to react to being comforted like this. “We’re both looking for answers.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You wouldn’t have come.”

“You still should have told me.”

Jinki sighs. Minho can feel the soft, warm gust of air on the back of his neck and he shivers with his entire body; Jinki’s arms tighten. “I don’t know where you got this idea of me being friendly and open, but you’ve gotta stop.”

For a while, they lie, curled together, in silence. Minho remembers the first time they met, in Jinki’s dreamscape and the first time Jinki pointed a blaster at him. It wasn’t the first time a blaster had been pointed at him, but it was different. Minho doesn’t know why, or how, or from where his courage came to keep appearing, and how he knew when Jinki was in it.

It happened.

“My sister used to have this thing she would say,” Minho says. “It was ‘you don’t have to be what others believe you are.’ I always thought it was pretty powerful.”

Jinki loosens by increments and then Minho can feel the mattress shift as Jinki sits up. “I’m not a good person, Minho. You can’t keep telling yourself that.”

Minho remains prone for a few more moments before sitting up, facing Jinki. “You need to stop blaming yourself for every act of injustice in this world. You’ve saved millions of lives and work to correct every single wrong you come across.”

Jinki stares at him and then slide off the bed. “Go to bed, you’re probably tired.”

There’s the hiss of the door opening and Minho is alone. He stare at the two portraits hanging on either side of the door and gets off the bed to inspect them closely. Jinki gets his nose from his mom and his eyes as well. His dad— the hair? Maybe. Or the shape of his face, the pointed chin, smooth jawline. They stare back at him.

The dreamscapes beckon to him stronger than before. They sing sweetly to him, sing of all the things that could have been. Minho is not one for sentimentality, whatever Jinki may think, but these songs remind him of his youth, before he awakened into his dreaming ability. Novus VI was a good place to raise a kid, is still a good place, but oh— Minho has wonderful memories. Hanging out with the neighbors, specie, but it didn’t matter, and they would run through the tunnels, shrieking as kids do, hands along the walls feeling the smoothed and sometimes bumpy stone. There were plants too, and they would feel the smooth green between their fingers and wonder over them, the plants curling underneath their fingers. He met Taemin in the tunnels; Minho barreled right into him and somehow they became friends.

They are the simplest memories he has. They are not affected by any other complexity the world could attempt. They are full of simple childhood wonder at the world.

Minho steps towards the dreamscape because he is unable to resist any longer, despite Klanter’s warning echoing in his mind: _all of your new abilities, keep to a minimum_. Surely only once more would do no harm— it is curiosity that compels him, and how it feels so right to do so. Just one more step, reach up to a slim file pushed far against the wall, and pull it down.

It feels right in his hands, not the twisted ship of before. He could break it, if he wanted to, but he doesn’t want to. Minho carries it to the bed, a little stunned by how _right_ everything seems right now. Jinki might not have asked his permission for anything, but Minho is right where he needs to be. He belongs on this ship, in Jinki’s bed, helping him sleep. He needed to talk to Klanter, to find everything out.

This is meant to be, Minho thinks, as he slips into the dream.

 

 

It is a mistake. He is on a plain, empty of everything. There are no walls, just an endless barren wasteland. The ground is dirt, cracked in some places, and this isn’t right, this isn’t meant to be, but the moment Minho tries to leave, there are two figures in front of him, holding onto his arms.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” they say in unison and smile. One has blood leaking down her chin from her mouth and the man is bruised, his wrist at an odd angle as he grasps Minho’s hand. They are Jinki’s parents.

“Tell us about our son,” his mother says as she pulls him to the ground, sitting primly.

“Please do,” his father says, sitting next to his wife.

Minho stares at them and is afraid. Is this right? He can talk to Jinki’s parents, discover the origin of the rebellion, but they are insane. Does he have any other choice?

He sits across from them and starts talking.

 


End file.
